


Blood Runs Stale

by lorienn



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: And even better lover, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguments, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Fluff, Excitable Peter Parker, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Stephen Strange, Psychological Trauma, Regret, Relatively Steve Rogers Unfriendly, Self-Destructive Tendencies, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Stephen Strange is a good friend, Stephen Strange using the mystic arts to help Tony become free of his demons, Tony Stark battling with his demons quite literally, Tony and Stephen finding solace in one another, Zoroastrianism, dark entities, mentions of insecurity, mystic arts, tentative friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15531819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorienn/pseuds/lorienn
Summary: Following Thanos' defeat, the universe has finally found peace but Tony Stark has not. He constantly fights a losing battle against a dark spirit that has made a home in his mind and only becomes stronger as his psychological condition deteriorates. He eventually enlists the help of Sorcerer Supreme and tentative acquaintance Stephen Strange to overcome the spirit and finds himself caught in a whirlwind of much more than he could have ever envisaged.





	1. Chapter One

That day, there was something inexplicably disconcerting to Strange about the incessant chiming of the Sanctum’s pendulum clock. 

 

He felt unnerved every minute that passed as if some catastrophic event was liable to occur at any moment. He could not fathom why the passing time caused him to become so incredibly on-edge, considering his life post-Thanos was the most tranquil it had ever been since protecting the world had became his day job. 

 

He attempted to force the feeling into the back of his mind but to no avail. Stephen resisted the urge to grit his teeth.  

 

The perpetual unease reminded him oddly of the his life before he became the Sorcerer Supreme. The hectic monotony of his routine as a neurosurgeon riddled with appointments and gatherings and commitments had swamped his mind and made every moment feel like a suspension of his existence rather than an extension of it. His focus was hindered constantly by a lingering fear that everything was coming irreparably undone while he was oblivious to it. The time in his life seemed to only accumulate meaninglessly, building up to one impending moment that he realized would never take place. 

 

Strange knew suffering under the illusion that he was trapped by his own mortality would only destroy him. The Ancient One’s mystical fatalities had proven that to him. He could not perceive of his limited time as a delay of some mortal release if he was to be the safekeeper of Time itself and the fragile reality it had loosely thread together.  

 

Yet, Strange could not shake off the feeling that something infinitely more pertinent was happening while he was idling away at the Sanctum. He willed himself to meditate, expelling his anxieties to focus on the source of his disconcertment. 

 

Slowly, a vision manifested in his mind. He was transported to a dark room, devoid of anything save for a mounted glass case enclosing a transparent sphere. 

 

A faint, blue light illuminated the sphere, flickering haphazardly the longer Strange gazed at it. His eyes strained to catch the light.

Strange approached the case, stretching his arm out to seize the sphere. He inched closer by the second, careful not to disturb his focus and will the vision away.

 

The sphere was now centimeters from his grasp, the light becoming stronger and more stable. He reached forward and—

 

The vision disintegrated into shards of black glass in his mind as he was yanked back into reality. Seated cross-legged on the aptly named Meditation Cushion in the Sanctum, Strange struggled to regain ahold of the mirage. 

 

Once he successfully recreated the vision, he attempted to approach the sphere again. It didn’t flicker at all this time, glowing brighter and appearing closer than ever.

 

He found himself paralyzed, however, feet entrenched into his spot on the ground and arms drawn firmly behind his back as he tried to take a step forward. 

 

He glanced down in horror at the black tendrils slowly coiling themselves across his body. They held Strange hostage as he thrashed profusely in their clasp. 

 

Strange focused all of his energy on conjuring up a blast forceful enough to free him without dispelling the mirage. He watched as they blazed with red light, his momentary hopefulness crushed by the fact that the gust of power did nothing for the coils rooting him firmly in place. Instead they gripped him tighter, and he felt himself suffocate as the whole room radiated red.  

 

Stephen was once again lurched back into reality, struggling to reclaim his breath. 

 

The mirage conflicted Stephen unlike any he had ever witnessed. In the mystic arts, visions were either foretellers or messengers, warning him of an imminent danger or enabling him to become receptive of something he had been ignorant to. A wrong that must urgently be rectified lest he risk it spiralling completely out of his control. 

 

But no vision from his reality or any other dimension had ever been that hostile, intent upon pushing him out at every attempt he made to come closer. 

 

Stephen wondered at the significance of the blue sphere. He urged himself to recall a time he encountered an object that had resembled it, but came up with nothing but the long destroyed Tesseract following Thanos’ defeat. 

 

No cosmic element could have ever survived its destruction, a combination of the most powerful blasts he could conjure from three million different dimensions, he reasoned. No, it had to be something else. 

 

He mulled over his options carefully, trying to discern the best possible course of action. Since the vision was unwilling to let him come into proximity of the blue sphere, he thought better of trying to pull it back into his reality. He considered destroying it, if only to see what would become of it, but waved away the possibility since he did not know if it would overpower him or if the threat extended far beyond the sphere itself. 

 

He took a deep breath and willed himself to muster up the mirage one last time. 

 

After some moments and an indescribable level of mental exertion, Stephen found himself again in the empty room, the blue sphere shining brilliantly. Its light flooded the empty space and Stephen found himself shielding his eyes from the glare. 

 

Stephen took a hesitant step forward, releasing his breath in relief when he discovered he could again move freely. 

 

Carefully, he circled the perimeter of the glass case. He kept his hands close by his side as to not threaten the vision into propelling him out again. 

 

He watched in bemusement as the blue light illuminating the sphere swirled into a smokey wisp, enveloping him completely. The wisp spiralled upward until it was well above his head. It swayed back and forth around him for a few moments until it started travelling away.  

 

The wisp halted as he stood rooted in place, flying back in his direction to encase him again.

 

Stephen realized it was beckoning for him to follow it. 

 

He let the wisp guide him out of the room and into a brightly lit one, then another room with barren walls, then another one painted red. Stephen found that he could cross seamlessly through the walls of every room even though he remained in his tangible form. 

 

Stephen followed the wisp through what seemed to be an endless series of rooms, until it finally paused in a dark, empty room, a mirror image of the one he had initially conjured in his vision though devoid of the glass case or the blue sphere it encased. 

 

Goosebumps raced over his skin as a sensation of cold immersed him suddenly, and he felt his Cloak wrap itself tighter around his shivering body. Stephen drew it closer and made to follow the wisp down into a corridor that materialized farther down as he approached it. 

 

The blue wisp burned a fiery purple, a projection of beautiful, burning colors that reflected in the gray of his eyes as he fixed his gaze upon it. 

 

Stephen was snapped out of his trance immediately, however, when he heard a faint choking sound coming from further down the corridor. 

 

He treaded carefully until he arrived at the source of the sound, the wisp travelling in sync with him all the while. 

 

Stephen stopped in his tracks as a man’s limp body came into his view. His shoulders were bare with only a thin white sheet covering the remainder of his body and his face was turned away from Stephen. But from what he could see, his face appeared to be battered and bruised. 

 

The man yelped and began trembling profusely, terrible choking noises emitting from his throat as his whole body shook. 

 

Stephen dropped to his knees in an instant, grasping the man by the shoulders to keep him in place. The man’s shut eyes flew open and Stephen Strange gaped in horror as they caught his. 

 

_ Tony Stark? _


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purpose of this story, Tony has never had any romantic association with Pepper. But he has had a brief (and justifiably heartwrenching) relationship with Steve Rogers that will make its appearance a few times over the course of this fic, though Steve Rogers won't.

It was a recurring dream.

 

Every night Tony would find himself again in the dark room, void in every way except one. An enclosure made of glass was mounted on a clear pedestal and he would it approach again and again, entirely against his own will. Yet he never seemed to get close enough to touch.

 

Every night he would feel his reactor beat relentlessly against his chest, as if threatening to tear itself apart from him. Tony would settle a hand on his chest, placating it, urging it to stop. Then, an aching sensation would consume him, spreading from the reactor to every limb in his body, and Tony struggles to stay upright.

 

The dream would follow that pattern without fail every single night until Tony wakes up, clutching at his chest and fighting to catch his breath.

 

The drumming in his chest was cruelly reminiscent of the time in his life when he didn’t have the electromagnet to protect his lifeline. A time when he had no need for this artificial heart that somehow became a substitute for his physical one. Yet, these days, he barely felt the beating of his own heart and found comfort in the steady thrum of his reactor.

 

That is, until he’d fall asleep again and feel an insatiable urge to rip it out of his chest in one fluid motion, if only he could get the pain to stop.  

 

In his dream, the blue beam emitting from his chest illuminates the whole room and Tony tries not to let his real heart claw up his throat when he feels the claustrophobia overwhelm him. The reactor burns against his skin, its pounding causing him to tremble.

 

That night, Tony couldn’t stand the pain. He screamed and clawed at his skin, falling helplessly to the floor and dissolving into a fit of sobs.

 

He reached feebly for anything,  _ anyone,  _ to save him from the unbearable anguish.

 

His mind whirrs as he glances up at the pedestal mere feet from his grasp.

 

He knew what he had to do.

 

The glass case was almost within his reach. He yearned for the drumming in his chest to cease if only for one moment as he limps across the floor. Tony clenched his teeth as he settled his weight down on his elbows, desperately crawling to his only hope for salvation.

 

Once he’d arrived at the foot of the glass case, Tony’s right hand hovered over his chest in a moment of reluctance. He shut his eyes tightly and choked out a sob, willing his body to stay still. Then he let his hand descend to pull the reactor out, inch by inch, his body nearly combusting from the pain. Tony’s shoulders quiver as he writhes helplessly on the floor.

 

The reactor’s sparks burn his fingertips as he finally tears it from his chest. The hollow ache that remained electrified him to the core and the pain intensified tenfold. Tony bit down a scream and tried to steady his heaving chest, its emptiness a stark evidence of what he’d just done.

 

In his hands, the reactor continued to pound. Its blue light shone blazingly and Tony was nearly blinded by its radiance.

 

Averting his eyes, he climbed to his feet and hesitantly opened the glass case. Inside he placed the erratic jumble of wires and circuits and shut it in an instant. Tony pushed himself up against the glass and struggled to regain his balance.  

 

But at that moment, he felt a searing pain in his chest. His breath hitched as he glanced down to see an obsidian liquid oozing from where he had removed the reactor. He felt his whole body being torn apart as the black fluid pooled at his feet.

 

Tony woke up with a jolt.

 

Trembling, he placed a tentative hand underneath the thin cotton material of his shirt and collapsed back onto his bed in relief when he felt its warmth against his palm.

 

It was proof enough that he was okay. For now, at least.

 

He lay in bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling and trying to even his breath out. But the horrifying dream was imprinted in his mind no matter how hard he willed it to go away.

 

Tony was drowning in how real it felt. The throbbing ache as his reactor beat in his chest, the burning sensation when he held it in his palm, the horror that had sucker punched him in the gut as he saw himself bleed black. _ Everything. _

 

His whole body ached as he lay in bed, his sore limbs protesting when he re-positioned himself on his side in a last-ditch effort to return to sleep. He couldn’t remember experiencing a pain that vivid or depleting since Thanos had nearly choked the soul out of his body.

 

He wished, not for the first time, but at that moment more than ever, that Steve was laying beside him. The gaping hole inside of his real heart felt larger than everything and he felt  _ vulnerable _ . He longed for his ex-lover’s steady presence and the gentle press of his chest against Tony’s back as he’d held him through the night, hands snaking around his waist and nose buried in his hair.

 

Tony had found security in Steve’s embrace in what felt then like a lifetime ago. In one bizarre streak of luck, he’d managed to salvage half the universe from a point that had seemed irreversible. Yet he couldn’t manage two words to salvage something that one apology could repair in an instant.

 

Of course, he’d still live with the unshakeable memories of his demolished body and crumbling heart on that cold day in Siberia. He’d still live with the image of Steve’s fiery eyes blazing with fear and despise permanently imprinted behind his eyelids every time his insomnia pulled him back into the point of no return. He’d still live with the mantras of self-hatred transfixed in his mind every time Steve focused that steely gaze on him whenever he’d trusted his own judgment before anyone else’s.  

 

But it  _ could _ be salvaged. Tony was enough of a scientist to not dismiss something as simple as a theoretical possibility in the favor of pragmatism. Though, it didn’t seem to be any question of whether or not that possibility was realistic, because he knew it was.

 

He knew he could suck it up as he’d always done and live with the agony, if only he could have someone to hold him again. To comb through his hair with their fingers and whisper quiet reassurances with lips pressed against the nape of his neck as he fought against the tremors of panic coursing through his body.  

 

And yet he had no one. Waking up alone felt like a blow heftier than anything his fucked up sub-conscience could ever conjure in his sleep.

 

For the fourth time that week, Tony Stark lay awake staring at a blank wall and willed the tears to go away.

  
  
  
  


_ “Boss, Mr. Parker wants me to alert you that he’s feeling well and unable to make it to the lab today.” _ FRIDAY’s voice boomed through the kitchen.

 

Tony frowned at that as he poured milk into his coffee. Ever since the destruction-of-the ugly-grape-thumb-titan (as Peter had fondly termed it), Peter had frequented his workshop without fail every single week. They worked on various projects and designs to their superhero tech, and though Tony would never admit it aloud, he enjoyed the kid’s company more than anyone else’s in his life at that moment. He was brilliant, and his perpetual enthusiasm and never-failing optimism were two of the brightest lights amidst Tony’s darker days.

 

That’s why he couldn’t shake off a feeling of unease at hearing Peter would be missing from his lab that day. He had a hunch that “feeling unwell” in Spidey language translated instead to something along the lines of pursuing something dangerous but “no-really-Mr.-Stark-I-was-just-curious-it’s-nothing-don't-even-worry-I’m-totally-fine-and-”

 

Tony grimaced as he brought a hand to his face. “FRIDAY, give Mr. Parker a call, please.”

 

_ “You got it, boss.” _

 

A hologram materialized then above his kitchen table displaying an image of a puffy-eyed Peter Parker wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and hair flying in a million different directions.

 

Peter mustered up a slight grin as he gave Tony a weak wave.

 

Tony’s eyes softened. “Hey, kid,” he said gently.

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter replied hoarsely. “Sorry I can’t come in today. Aunt May said I should really stay in bed.” Peter’s voice dissolved into a coughing fit.

 

“No, it’s alright, kid. Take care of yourself. Should I have Happy get you some soup? Cough medicine?”

 

“Nah, I’m okay, Mr. Stark. Can you send me a pic of the schematic we were working on last time, though? I’ve been  _ dying _ to finish it!”

 

“Sure thing, kid,” Tony told him fondly.

 

“Thanks! Bye, Mr. Stark.” Peter grinned at him.

 

“Bye, Peter.” The hologram dissipated and Tony felt the fondness grow impossibly large in his chest as he exhaled in relief.  _ Peter is safe.  _ One less source of paranoia in his life.

 

He leaned against the counter sipping his coffee for a long moment, blanking out as his eyes focused on nothing in particular. He wondered distantly what Rhodey was preoccupied with at the moment, realizing he hadn’t heard from his best friend in months.

 

Tony was snapped out of any thought of Rhodey though when he felt the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder.

 

_ “Stark.”  _ A deep voice spoke from beside him.

 

Tony yelped as he jerked away from Stephen Strange, his coffee splattering on his counter and down the front of his shirt.

 

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Tony gritted out. “Give a man a warning, would you?” Tony glanced at the mess and sighed in exasperation.

 

“I’ve been standing here for about two minutes. I thought you would’ve noticed but you seemed too caught up in your own headspace.” Strange shrugged as he cleared the spilled coffee with a wave of his arm, pointedly ignoring the mess down Tony’s front too. Tony scowled at his pettiness.

 

“Where’d you even come from?” Tony demanded, bewildered, as he wiped his shirt.

 

Strange gestured to the blazing orange portal on the other side of his counter. Tony sighed again. He must have  _ really _ been zoning out if he hadn’t noticed the resident Gandalf make a grand entrance in the middle of his fucking kitchen.

 

Tony fixed Strange with an unimpressed look.

 

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Strange scowled. “I was originally going to open the portal into your bedroom but I thought this would be less intrusive.”

 

“ _ Less intrusive. _ ” Tony snorted derisively.

 

Strange rolled his eyes, his Cloak detaching itself from around his neck to drift aimlessly down the hallway into his living space. Tony despised that thing. He could practically feel the evil aura radiating from it and he could never shake off the feeling that it was watching him whenever he was in Strange’s company.

 

“So, to which world-ending threat do I owe the pleasure to this time?” Tony asked as he refilled his mug of coffee.

 

Strange stood unmoving beside the sink, hands clasped behind his back. “No world-ending threat. Hopefully.”

 

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him.

 

He hadn’t honestly decided what to make of Strange yet. Though their relationship had eased into a relative ambiance following Thanos’ defeat, he still found himself wary of the sorcerer more often than not. His magical jargon and practice of the so-called Mystic Arts had made Tony reconsider everything he’d thought he knew—though, to be fair, that was quite the regular occurrence for Tony in the past twelve months.

 

Yet, constantly feeling utterly oblivious was something else entirely. He couldn’t bring himself to trust someone with powers  _ that  _ exceptionally powerful and unrestrained. Besides, he had yet to have any idea exactly  _ how  _ Strange was capable of tearing through the fabric of the universe, reversing time, and performing outright  _ miracles _ . Tony was never a spiritual person, a firm agnostic since he was a teenager, but Strange made him reconsider with every magical feat of his that Tony could have never imagined plausible. Not in this reality, nor the next one trillion. Not because of science, or magic, or any alien technology. None of it made sense.

 

Tony simply  _ didn’t know _ , and for him, that had always been a difficult truth to come to terms with. It was indescribably vexing to feel overshadowed by the darkness of his own ignorance, especially as his world gleamed in beautiful, kaleidoscopic light. Magic seemed like its own faraway universe of opportunity—expansive possibilities that Tony could not grasp no matter how vigorously he propelled himself forward. The Mystic Arts were like a calcification of his impalpable imagination, and he knew if he could possess that capacity for even one moment, the things he could  _ create _ … the mere potential surpassed every limit of his self-imposed nescience.

 

Though he sincerely doubted Strange would ever trust him, the long-declared Merchant of Death, with anything of the sort. Besides, he knew he couldn’t let his own greed best him when he realized full-well how vicious it can be once it’s clawed its talons into his skin, causing him to blister with desperation and desire for what he can never possess.

 

But those weren’t the only reasons he kept his distance from Strange. He wasn’t sure he was convinced of his intentions, either. To think _ anyone _ could harness that much power with no ulterior motive? The thought was utterly perplexing to Tony who was familiar enough with people betraying his trust the moment they became more powerful than him. The pain from every disloyalty he’d been dealt still felt like a fresh gash bleeding through his skin and Steve Rogers’ godforsaken  _ blue eyes _ flashed in his mind for the millionth time that week.

 

Perhaps that’s why Tony couldn’t deny the incredible relief he felt at the realization that Strange was wholly indifferent to him. He didn’t revere,  _ never  _ revered, Tony in the way everyone in his life had at some point or another. He didn’t care for what Tony had to offer him, and Tony offered the same courtesy in turn. They were nothing more than coworkers in the world-saving business. They weren’t friends and they didn’t need to be. Their relationship was uncomplicated and professional, and Tony very much preferred it that way.

 

“So, no impending disaster. Right. Great. Did everyone at Hogwarts go home for the break then? Do you need a place to stay?”

 

Stephen stared at him blankly. “Your quips are somehow even more juvenile and unoriginal than when I’d first met you. You never fail to impress me, Stark.”

 

Tony offered him a small grin as he spread butter over a piece of toast. “Ease up, Doctor. Killjoy isn’t a good look on you.” He took a bite from his toast and spoke through his food. “Nor is green actually. Did wizard school get a uniform change? Where did the blue go?”

 

Stephen glowered at him, visibly resisting the urge to glance self-consciously at his hunter green robes as he reached for the abandoned cup of coffee on the counter. “I don’t only own one set of clothes, you know. That’d be terribly impractical.” He took a delicate sip from Tony’s coffee and sneered. “This is fucking disgusting. Do you make a habit of drinking diabetes from a cup?”

 

Tony swatted at him as he grabbed his coffee back. “Hey, if you came here just to insult my taste in coffee, then you can go.” Tony gestured to the portal with his toast.

 

“It’s like you don’t even give a damn about your health,” Stephen ignored him, brushing off invisible soot from where Tony had hit him.

 

“If I cared at all about my wellbeing, Strange, I wouldn’t go actively seeking death in my free time.” Tony drank from his coffee, nodding in satisfaction.

 

Strange cocked his head. “Fair point.” He grabbed the remaining piece of toast from Tony’s hand and shoved it in his mouth.

 

Tony slapped his shoulder again. “I was eating that.” The Cloak didn’t seem to take too kindly to that, slapping Tony’s bum in turn. Tony jolted in surprise.

 

“Too bad.” Strange replied through a mouthful.

 

Tony shook his head in irritation, turning away from Strange and his god-evil magic carpet to reach for the butter knife and another slice of toast. Strange trailed after him slowly.

 

“Really, why are you here, Strange?” Tony asked impatiently.

 

“Have you been sleeping well?” He deflected.

 

Tony turned to stare at him in bewilderment. “Sorry, Doctor, I don’t remember scheduling a check-up—”

 

“ _ Tony, _ just answer the question,” he insisted.

 

Tony startled. It was the first time Strange had ever referred to him by his first name. He 

shrugged in response.

 

“That’s a no, I assume?” Strange prodded with an uncharacteristic tenderness to the low timbre of his voice.

 

“It’s a what’s-it-to-you?” Tony snapped, hopelessly perplexed by this towering  _ wizard  _ who’d barged into his kitchen to steal his toast and ask him about the  _ quality of his sleep _ . For fuck’s sake, how much more bizarre did his life have to get before he could catch a goddamn break?

 

“It’s not anything to me.” Strange lashed back before he took a deep breath. “I saw a vision, Stark.”

 

“What kind of vision?” Tony asked, chewing on his toast thoughtfully.

 

“One I’m afraid is too difficult to unravel alone.” Strange steepled his hands beneath his chin.

 

“And you need my help?” Tony put the last of the toast in his mouth and reached to take off his coffee-soiled shirt.

 

“Something like that.”

 

“What did you see, then?” Tony pressed, lifting his shirt above his head. He threw it in the laundry basket Dum-E had conveniently placed in every corner of his home. He was glad at least _ someone _ was familiar with his tendency to go through at least sixteen wardrobe changes a day and prepared accordingly. He knew Pepper resented him finding his clothes draped across random pieces of furniture.

 

Strange went quiet as Tony removed his shirt. Tony turned to find him gazing intently at the arc reactor gleaming on his chest.  

 

Tony subconsciously brought a hand to the artificial heart. “What did you see, Doctor?” He repeated slowly.

 

Strange was immediately snapped out of his stupor. “N-nothing,” he shook his head at Tony. “Nothing I can’t decipher if given enough time.”

 

Tony nodded disbelievingly. “Right,” he drawled. “So? You don’t need anything?”

 

“No,” Strange nodded back. “I’m glad you’re doing well, Tony.”

 

There it was again. Oddly enough, Tony wasn’t as uncomfortable with Strange saying his name as he’d thought he’d be. “Thanks,  _ Stephen _ .” Tony mocked.

 

“I’ll see you around.” Strange greeted as he approached the Portal, his Cloak reattaching to his neck in an instant.

 

“Sure.” Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Stephen exit.

 

Standing alone in his living room, Tony sighed deeply at the confounding _ mess _ his life had become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind feedback so far! Any kind of feedback, especially constructive criticism, is always appreciated!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm really sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up! I really needed to take the time to outline this story and figure out where I want to take it before I posted this chapter. I've decided to draw it out significantly more than I had originally planned, so you can look for about seventeen more chapters of this fic. Second, please note that these updates alternate between Tony and Stephen's perspectives, so you can get insight into both sides of the story. That is the way it'll remain unless specified otherwise. Lastly, please enjoy this chapter!

“It’s the  _ reactor _ , Wong!” Stephen exclaimed as he barged into the Sanctum library, Cloak billowing behind him. 

 

The Cloak swatted away the student in his path and the boy lurched in surprise.  _ Batsa _ , Stephen recognized him as. Wong’s brightest mentee and his honorary substitute librarian. 

 

Stephen yanked the Cloak back into place and offered the boy a wry smile in apology as he scurried off. 

 

_ “Keep your voice down.” _ Wong hissed, pointing in the direction of the meditation room opposite the shelf where they stood. 

 

Wong neatly filed away the books levitating beside him as Stephen drew closer. 

 

“Wong, the reactor. Tony Stark’s arc reactor. His second heart.” Stephen told him quietly but firmly. 

 

“What about it?”

 

“It’s the blue sphere from my vision. It has the same aura.” Stephen disclosed. 

 

Wong peered thoughtfully at him. “What do you think that means?” 

 

“I can’t be sure yet. I’m going to revisit the mirage and see what more I can find.”  

 

Wong nodded in affirmation. “Did you tell Tony Stark?” 

 

Stephen paused at that. “No. He doesn’t seem to know anything about it.” 

 

Wong slowly quirked an eyebrow at him. “But what if it is not a mystic danger? He should at least be forewarned so he can keep his guard.” 

 

Stephen pursed his lips, tearing his gaze from his companion. “No, I’m almost certain it is. Either way, I can’t afford to have him act rashly before I’ve fully discerned it.” 

 

“So it is.” Wong nodded. “I’ll leave you to that, then.” 

 

“Thank you, Wong,” Stephen replied, bowing to him. 

 

Wong smiled fondly at him. “No need to defer to me, dear Sorcerer Supreme. It’s I who should be bowing to you.” 

 

“My position does not resign me of the obligation to respect you,” Stephen insisted. “Nor of the customs of the culture that has bestowed me with so much.” 

 

“Well, if that’s so.” Wong placed a hand on his shoulder in a friendly gesture. “I’m at your beck and call as always, Stephen. Come find me if you need anything.” 

 

“I will.”

  
  


Later, seated cross-legged on the dusty floor of the New York Sanctum, Stephen summoned the aid of a metaphysical artifact. 

 

The artifact was a hovering hexagonal polytope that shimmered with sparkling purple light and completely evaded Stephen’s grasp as he tried to capture it. Instead, it simply transpassed the flesh of his hand and levitated right above his shoulder. 

 

Stephen mentally scolded himself for expecting anything different, as the two metaphysical objects hovered around him—his Cloak of Levitation and the violaceous prism he’d begun to mentally term the Purple Vision Ball. Though the artifact wasn’t anything close to spherical, Stephen was always one for attributing self-explanatory monikers to obscure objects, finding the simplicity an infallible gateway to feeling more confident in what he sought to accomplish at the moment. For Stephen Strange, everything is as graspable as it is understandable. If his mastery of the mystical arts had illuminated anything to him, it was that nothing that can be fathomed can resist manipulation.

 

And so there he found himself, conjuring the energy from the Purple Vision Ball into a sphere of violet swirls and carefully recreating the image of Tony Stark’s arc reactor in his mind. Slowly, he thrust the mnemonic swirls into his temple and shut his eyes tightly. 

 

Stephen was immediately transported to the setting of the mirage from two days prior—the dimly light, uninhabited room with the empty glass case. This time, Tony Stark’s trembling body nor the blue light which emitted from his chest were anywhere to be found. 

 

He circled himself slowly, realizing also that his Cloak was completely absent in this apparition. Huh. 

 

Stephen remained still for a moment, hesitating, as he scanned his gaze over every corner of the small room. Frustratingly enough, he saw no movement or any indication that the vision was a replication of the one from before. 

 

Stephen was almost ready to exit the apparition and verbally express his aggravation once he’d securely returned to his own reality when Stephen saw the wall to his left shift in his peripheral vision. 

 

Stephen slowly pivoted his body as to not disrupt the motion. Then, fully facing the wall, Stephen watched in bemusement as the wall slid to reveal another room illuminated in a sharp, fluorescent yellow light. 

 

Stephen entered the space, before turning abruptly to find that the previous room had materialized into nothingness before his eyes. 

 

Stephen quickly recognized the room he currently found himself in as one of Tony Stark’s many tinkering spaces. Though he had never entered it before, it certainly wasn’t that difficult of a conclusion to arrive it. The space’s interior was nearly as disorganized as the mind of its inhabitant. It was overflowing at the brim with an array of gadgets and circuits and diagrams all strewn disorderly across different furniture. In the center, there stood a towering glass case reminiscent of that from Stephen’s original mirage. 

 

The glass noticeably did not reflect Stephen’s profile as he stood before it, touching a tentative hand to its surface only to find his hand travelled straight through it. 

 

“Pepper?” 

 

Stephen jolted, watching as Tony Stark entered the room with a phone extended to his ear by a small, convulsing robot that pitifully tried to match his pace as he stirred a mug of coffee and spoke into the speaker of his phone. Tony frowned down at the sparks emitting from the bot’s antennas, before grabbing his phone from the bot’s mechanical hold and setting it down one of the many counters littered with various tools and parts. 

 

Stephen knew, intuitively, that he was not visible Tony. There was no way he could be without manipulating the future (or was it the past? Stephen couldn’t be sure). And that was a feat he couldn’t accomplish without employing the Time Stone—an incomprehensibly powerful device he’d only used as a last resort against Thanos, and never even considered resigning to amidst his daily mystical conundrums. 

 

He’d had many opportunities to witness firsthand the horrific expanse of its capability, after all. Stephen knew that even one slight alteration—any momentary nick—to the very thread that held reality together and his world would be torn apart at the seams. All physical existence in every dimension would crumble, forever trapped in a never-ceasing loop of destruction.

 

This vision wasn’t any alteration, he insisted internally. He was  _ not _ a trespasser, merely a witness into a different period of his same reality that will happen (or has happened?) as it should. It wasn’t a figment of his creation, only a single occurrence independent of any intervention, from the future or otherwise. Yes, that’s all it was, Stephen reassured himself, almost frantically.

 

Yet, as Tony fixed his gaze where Stephen stood before the glass case, Stephen couldn’t help but feel his mouth go dry and his heart begin to pound erratically in his ribcage. He held Tony’s gaze for a long while with hitched breath and prickling skin, noticing how Tony’s lips quirked downward and his eyes narrow. Stephen’s reality temporarily shifted from beneath his feet. 

 

_ “Tony?”  _ A voice crackled from the speaker of his discarded phone. 

 

Stephen watched as Tony tore his gaze away from him. Tony blinked profusely and shook his head to himself before bringing the phone to his mouth. “Yeah, Pepper?” 

 

Stephen’s tense body went limp with relief. 

 

_ “Are you still with me?”  _

 

“‘Course, what were you saying?” Tony asked as he twirled his now empty mug of coffee from his pinky finger, seemingly unperturbed by the odd occurrence that had taken place mere moments before. 

 

Stephen took his distraction as a good sign as he carefully touched his hand to the glass encasement again. This time, Stephen’s eyes widened as he felt his hand settle on the cool surface. Stephen’s reflection blinked up at him and he tried to swallow down the panic that rose in his throat.

 

_ “Tony? Where did you go?”  _ Pepper Potts’ voice rang loudly through the suddenly dead-silent room. 

 

Stephen turned to Tony in an instant, watching as his eyes glaze over and his whole body freeze. The coffee mug dangling from his finger dropped to his feet and splintered into a million tiny shards.

 

Stephen slowly stepped forward, mouth agape as Tony’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. A black swirl drifted out from his temple and danced almost gleefully across the perimeter of his skull. 

 

Tony promptly dropped to the ground, tearing his shirt down the middle of his chest as he screeched in pain. His hands fumbled around his chest desperately before grasping the arc reactor now dangerously dimming down on his chest. 

 

_ “Tony? Tony!” _

 

Stephen found himself paralyzed yet again as Tony writhed helplessly on the ground. Tears squeezed out from his painfully closed eyes as he pulled aimlessly at his arc reactor. The black swirl previously swaying across his head then spiraled between his fingers as they struggled to remove his artificial heart. 

 

“No, Tony! NO!” Stephen screamed, overcoming his momentary paralysis to drop desperately at Tony’s side. 

 

_ “Tony, what’s happening?”  _ Pepper’s voice pleaded from the phone whose crackling crescendo now reverberated dully in Stephen’s skull as he fought to steer Tony’s hands away from his chest with his own clumsy, trembling hands.

 

Pressing his knee firmly into the shaky lower abdomen of the man beneath him, Stephen pulled his arm back into a winding motion to conjure two sets of brilliantly red ropes to coil across Tony’s body. Tony, unable to move his shoulders, thrashed in his hold as Stephen chased the black swirl. He stumbled over Tony’s limp body as it escaped his grasp, then drifted back into Tony’s temple. 

 

Tony’s body stilled completely, eyeballs rolled backing in place as he peered up at where Stephen stood hovering over him.

 

“Strange?” Tony croaked out weakly. 

With another backward wind of his arm, Stephen unfastened the ropes encasing Tony. He hesitated, watching as the man slowly brought himself upright. 

 

“Are you—” 

 

“What’s going—” 

 

They spoke in unison before pausing to stare intently at one another. Then, a third voice broke through their momentary reverie. 

 

“Tony!” Pepper Potts burst through the entrance. “Tony, what happened?” She demanded breathlessly as she sat down beside him, not sparing Stephen a single glance. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears as her shoulders shook. 

 

“Pepper,” Tony turned to face her, tenderly brushing his hand to her cheek. 

 

“I thought you were dying. Oh my god,” she breathed before pulling his head to her chest and sobbing. 

 

“Pepper, ‘m fine,” spoke Tony’s muffled voice as he stroked her back. 

 

Stephen shifted uncomfortably as he watched them embrace. 

 

“Doctor, what happened?” Pepper asked him helplessly, blinking across from him through her wet eyelashes. 

 

Stephen jolted in surprise at the acknowledgment.

 

Tony chose that moment to disentangle himself from Pepper. He turned his gaze accusingly at Stephen. “Yeah, Doctor, _ what happened _ ?” he demanded. 

 

Stephen blinked at him, the gravity of the situation barely registering as he tried his hardest to not let the shock overwhelm him. 

 

_ What the hell  _ did  _ just happen? _

 

“We need to talk.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's given this story a chance so far! Please feel free to leave any feedback you’d like to! I appreciate anything and everything you guys have to say about this fic (any portions you especially enjoyed, what you would like to see more of, any areas I should expand more on, etc). Very few things are more precious to an aspiring litterateur than for someone to indulge their little world of creation and share a piece of their imagination, so never hesitate to let me know what you think. :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry for how short this is :( I've been swamped with work but I wanted to get something out since I've been away for so long! I promise the next few updates will be much longer to make up for this.

“I was hypnotized by a fucking  _ demon _ ?” Tony demanded in horror as he struggled to shove off Strange’s Cloak, then wrapped protectively around his shivering frame like some goddamn  _ shock blanket _ . The Cloak refused to budge, enveloping him tighter the more he fought against it. 

 

Strange regarded him with a blank expression from his spot against the counter of Tony’s workshop. He stood with his arms crossed and lips pursed.

 

“An Ahriman is not a demon. It is a destructive spirit, yes, but it is not soulless nor self-sustaining.” 

 

“Technicalities,” Tony snarked. “What’s it trying to do to me, Strange?” 

 

“An Ahriman is essentially a living manifestation of dark energy,” Strange explained. “It cannot survive for very long without a true physical form in which to consolidate all of its power.”

 

“Are you saying it’s trying to possess me?” Tony demanded. 

 

“It seems it already has,” Strange quipped dryly. 

 

“Hilarious,” Tony deadpanned, as he forcibly yanked the lapels of the Cloak from his shoulders, only to have it spiral around his waist in a painful demonstration of indignation. “Could you tell your heinous magic blanket to  _ sod off _ ?” The Cloak whipped him in the face at the insult, drawing itself impossibly tighter around him. 

 

“Unfortunately for the both of us, she has a mind of her own. I cannot compel her to obey me unless she so desires.”

 

_ “She’s trying to suffocate me!” _

 

Strange sighed in exasperation. “She wouldn’t if you’d stop struggling.” 

 

“What does any of this have to do with my reactor?” Tony asked, now resigned to the Cloak’s encasement. “You said earlier that that whole episode was about it wanting me to take the reactor out. Why?” 

 

“I’m not completely sure,” Strange admitted with an almost sympathetic look to his eyes. “Though I do have a theory.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Enlighten me, Doctor.”

 

“I believe it is trying to get to your heart. It clearly is not powerful enough to control you by mind alone if it’s failed so pitifully up until this point. But if it can possess your body,” Strange took a deep breath, “its capabilities could very well surpass anything we have ever seen before.”

 

At those words, Tony’s mind flashed back to his dream from two nights before with the black liquid oozing from his torn chest. A chill went up Tony’s spine at the haunting image. “So the reactor’s some sort of barrier? That’s why it’s trying to get me to take it out?”

 

“I presume so,” Strange told him grimly. “And something tells me it won’t stop until that task is accomplished.”

 

“So what’s the gist? How do I exorcise this thing and get it the fuck out of my mind?” 

 

“I don’t know, Tony,” Strange said, lowering his voice. “Very few records in the Sanctum even mention a dark entity of this nature. I need some time to conceive an understanding of it.”

 

“Then why are you here, Strange?” Tony, trying to force down the bile that was rapidly rising in his throat at this unprecedented feeling of _helplessness_. “Why did you even come? Did this _dark spirit_ send you an email through some interdimensional server? You seem to be as clueless as I am but some-fucking-how _you’re here_ so something tells me you’re not telling me the truth.”

 

Strange went uncharacteristically silent at that. He stood still for a long while, so impeccably still that Tony would have mistaken him for a statue if he didn’t see the guilt that flashed through his eyes at Tony’s accusation.

 

Almost instantly, Tony’s mind revisited Strange’s appearance in his kitchen from two days prior and how entranced he had been at the sight of the reactor shining from Tony’s bare chest. Subconsciously recreating the memory, Tony raised a tentative hand to his artificial heart as everything suddenly clicked in place. 

 

“You knew,” Tony seethed, overcome with an impossible sense of  _ betrayal _ . 

 

“I did,” Strange admitted quietly.

 

“Were you just going to let me die then?” 

 

“You weren’t going to die, Stark.” Strange bit out. 

 

“Then what!” Tony yelled. “You bode your time so you could sweep in like some fucking savior?” 

 

“It’s not like that,” Strange insisted, raising his voice to match Tony’s. “I didn’t know that was going to happen.” Strange’s hands began trembling as he spoke. “That vision could’ve been a fabrication. A way of leading me into a trap. There was no way to tell.” 

 

“I saw you,” Tony told him shakily. “I saw you standing  _ there _ .” Tony gestured his quivering arm to the glass encasement in the center of his workshop. “I thought I was going crazy,” Tony’s eyes darted back and forth in disbelief, “but you were actually there. And you knew why I built that.” Tony took a step closer to him. “That thing,  _ in my mind, _ it gave me no other choice. I was going to tear myself apart with my own hands. And this whole time,  _ you knew _ .” 

 

Strange stilled again, taken aback by the vulnerability that had suddenly consumed Tony. “I should have told you,” he surrendered, in an earnest tone that Tony couldn’t fucking  _ bear _ . 

 

“But you didn’t. Why?” Tony asked him through clenched teeth. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Strange leveled his gaze with Tony’s.

 

“Doesn’t cut it.” Tony scoffed. “Get out.” 

 

“Tony,” Strange told him warningly.

 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Tony snapped. “Leave.” 

 

“I saved your life!”

 

“You saved yourself!” Tony fumed at him, lip trembling. “I’m no stranger to guilt, Doctor. I know you couldn’t have lived with that on your conscience.  _ But this was your fault _ , and no do-good charade is ever going to erase that.” 

 

Strange shut his eyes at that for a moment as he visibly tried to compose himself. Then, he nodded quickly before stretching out his arm and conjuring a portal to the Sanctum. 

 

The Cloak shoved Tony aside in favor of reattaching itself to Strange, almost knocking Tony off balance. 

 

“If you need me,” Strange started, as a red crystal materialized in Tony’s palm. “I’ll be here.” He gestured to the red crystal as Tony glared at him. 

 

As soon as Strange exited into the portal, Tony threw the crystal with all of his might at the spot only for it to appear back in his palm. 

 

At that point, Tony could only drop to the floor and wrap his arms around his knees as he mourned the life he never had. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to tell me what you think!


End file.
